My New Film, My New Dream, My New Music
Last night I got in a whole four hours’ more worth of research accomplished on Loads of Dames. Had a stark realization that I’ve never properly read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1923), so I tore into that as soon as I got home at 9:30 PM. Should have it finished today, and have that to assist me in my final draft, as well as the score of videos I ordered via Intelibrary Loan, such as Our Dancing Daughters (1928), It (1927) (which made Clara Bow the ‘It’ girl!), The Plastic age (1925), Walking Back (1928), and Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967). I’ll tear through these immediately when they arrive.
Last night’s dream was the most vivid I’ve had in weeks:
I was at a high school reunion, except rather than meet up with your class again once, you met back up for another five years of “update” high school, which is more about the socialization aspect and to keep dullards that didn’t do anything notable in the ten years after graduation learning something new, in the hopes they would one day take an interest in something that sparked their imagination.
The building was similar to my high school: very dim and shadowy, with several glass-enclosed courtyards where students could meet in the open-air. I started off in the men’s restroom, and while at a urinal Tressa Porter and Kelley Rains came in to retrieve some guy they had been looking for. At first I was a little taken aback by this, but it was really no more than an unexpected flinch, and I went on pissing at the urinal and answering their questions, realizing that now that we’re all older, no one really cares about such segregated privacy anymore, and that this was to be expected from now on during school.
Michael Meindl was the only person I was hanging out with as the school day was ending (since we all have jobs and other obligations now, the school being a come-and-go affair - required that you’re there a certain number of hours a week, but it didn’t matter when). As they had student activities in the courtyard after the official school day ended, he and I went outside to the nearest courtyard, where a local radio station had set up their on-the-spot broadcast (you know like they do at malls and sidewalks?), and kids were being encouraged to dance. Michael Meindl and I hung out on some spider-bars (the playground climbing fixture) to watch and decide what it was we really wanted to do that evening, which wasn't what everyone else seemed to be wasting their time with.
Then I was in California with Dustin and Danielle. They were vacationing there (but I wasn’t, for whatever reason), and they were real regulars about traveling there. We were sitting in an old mini-mall food court area. Thin beige carpeting (no stains), but ill-worn in spots, and the whole interior had a funereal pallor about it (because it was the off-season), save for the Hispanic cleaning crew. Once guy vacuumed with a low-powered vacuum, a few women wiped tables and walls. We were waiting on something to arrive (waiting for Godot?). I grew bored waiting because D & D started making small talk to the vacuuming guy about the weather, and about CA in general. “So this time we’re here, those San Jacinto winds seem to be more north-easterly off the coast than we’re used to at this time.” “Yeah, those Santa Arriatta westerlies might give you all a harder time once you pass down through the El Concha freeway.”
They were speaking all these geographical and weather-pattern names that are so California-centric, and it was making me sick that they were that intimately familiar with it all because they were privileged enough to visit so frequently. As they talked, I walked around, looking at all the reptiles in the storefront windows of the mini-mall. The biggest one had like twenty lizards of differing varieties, all crawling around on a thin bed of sand (no décor otherwise) in a space much too small for that many.
Just then D & D were replaced by all my extended family on both sides for a big event. Even Delpha was wheeled from the nursing home to attend (though in the dream she was merged with Sis, and bedridden with stomach cancer). Someone announced, “They’re here!” and in comes the entertainment: Butch Patrick (aka Eddie Munster), Pat Priest (Marilyn Munster), and Julie Andrews. As they were incoming, my maternal grandfather (completely out-of-character) decides to be an ass because he’s not impressed by the envoy, so he yells out “Hey! Where’s Bob?” In the dream this referred to the Munsters’ lead star, who would be Fred Gwynne, but it was understood that my grandfather was purposely using the wrong name in disrespect of the show, on top of the fact that he was pretending not to be impressed by the co-stars.
All three co-stars went around doing their “meet and greet”. My grandmother was embarrassing because she had to point out to Julie Andrews that Delpha/Sis who was sitting in a wheelchair nearby was practically on her deathbed, but had showed up in honour of the occasion, and how much it meant to her that those stars could be present (for whatever family occasion this was).
As Butch Patrick spoke, sitting Indian-style on the floor, I realized how he was roughly the same age as my Uncle Raymond, and how they must have had a similar upbringing until of course Butch auditioned for The Munsters and his life changed forever. As I thought this, Butch began to look more and more like my Uncle Raymond, and then merged into the spitting image of my Uncle Dennis. I strained to see the scar tissue on his neck from the surgeries that followed his tragic auto accident nearly twenty years prior, but realized it has faded significantly.
At that time the mini-mall food court melted away into my parent’s old living room, and I got up to scavenge finger foods for Julie Andrews, (who I knew must be expecting something). When I looked around, I became frustrated there wasn’t anything substantial enough. I eventually put a few spare pieces of leftover pizza on a pan, spruced them up with some tomato sauce, a little more cheese, and a sprinkle of seasoning, and then put them in the oven to reheat them (Ordinarily I’d reheat in the microwave, but this was a special guest you see). There was a scrumptious French slit pie, but it was in bad shape. Most of the wedges had been mushed (by Falfax, who stood beside me all the sudden).
My mother called out that the pie could be served so long as I spread a new thin layer of whipped cream over the top, and then carefully flipped the “meat” portion of the pie upside-down onto the crust to reseal its bond. After I did this I was unhappy that I had only ended up with two good pieces of pizza and two decent-looking pieces of pie to present to Ms. Andrews (I guess Mr. Patrick and Ms. Priest just weren’t as high-priority?). In real life I probably would’ve been much more excited to see those two. As I dealt with this querulous frustration, I woke up.
As I got out of bed, I was blessed with a new song, one which is very melodic and might be the standout song for my German Expressionist band (which will be premiered in Loads of Dames, as a means of combining creative projects together in an effort of getting more done all at once. This works very naturally since their respective time-period complements each other). It’s entitled “Once” and may be at the heart of my soul’s center. It still needs a lot of work during the bridge, but talk about having a song, lyrics and all (instrumentation, vocal effects, et cetera) just dump into your lap, fully-formed! It just gushed out of me, fresh from the dream. It’s like my dreams were reaching the furthest depths beyond the veil last night to bring back a gem that I could share with the physical world, a translated portion of my unconscious manifesting itself into the physical after my lengthy visit there. Perhaps I should get eight hours’ sleep more often!
Last night’s dream was the most vivid I’ve had in weeks:
I was at a high school reunion, except rather than meet up with your class again once, you met back up for another five years of “update” high school, which is more about the socialization aspect and to keep dullards that didn’t do anything notable in the ten years after graduation learning something new, in the hopes they would one day take an interest in something that sparked their imagination.
The building was similar to my high school: very dim and shadowy, with several glass-enclosed courtyards where students could meet in the open-air. I started off in the men’s restroom, and while at a urinal Tressa Porter and Kelley Rains came in to retrieve some guy they had been looking for. At first I was a little taken aback by this, but it was really no more than an unexpected flinch, and I went on pissing at the urinal and answering their questions, realizing that now that we’re all older, no one really cares about such segregated privacy anymore, and that this was to be expected from now on during school.
Michael Meindl was the only person I was hanging out with as the school day was ending (since we all have jobs and other obligations now, the school being a come-and-go affair - required that you’re there a certain number of hours a week, but it didn’t matter when). As they had student activities in the courtyard after the official school day ended, he and I went outside to the nearest courtyard, where a local radio station had set up their on-the-spot broadcast (you know like they do at malls and sidewalks?), and kids were being encouraged to dance. Michael Meindl and I hung out on some spider-bars (the playground climbing fixture) to watch and decide what it was we really wanted to do that evening, which wasn't what everyone else seemed to be wasting their time with.
Then I was in California with Dustin and Danielle. They were vacationing there (but I wasn’t, for whatever reason), and they were real regulars about traveling there. We were sitting in an old mini-mall food court area. Thin beige carpeting (no stains), but ill-worn in spots, and the whole interior had a funereal pallor about it (because it was the off-season), save for the Hispanic cleaning crew. Once guy vacuumed with a low-powered vacuum, a few women wiped tables and walls. We were waiting on something to arrive (waiting for Godot?). I grew bored waiting because D & D started making small talk to the vacuuming guy about the weather, and about CA in general. “So this time we’re here, those San Jacinto winds seem to be more north-easterly off the coast than we’re used to at this time.” “Yeah, those Santa Arriatta westerlies might give you all a harder time once you pass down through the El Concha freeway.”
They were speaking all these geographical and weather-pattern names that are so California-centric, and it was making me sick that they were that intimately familiar with it all because they were privileged enough to visit so frequently. As they talked, I walked around, looking at all the reptiles in the storefront windows of the mini-mall. The biggest one had like twenty lizards of differing varieties, all crawling around on a thin bed of sand (no décor otherwise) in a space much too small for that many.
Just then D & D were replaced by all my extended family on both sides for a big event. Even Delpha was wheeled from the nursing home to attend (though in the dream she was merged with Sis, and bedridden with stomach cancer). Someone announced, “They’re here!” and in comes the entertainment: Butch Patrick (aka Eddie Munster), Pat Priest (Marilyn Munster), and Julie Andrews. As they were incoming, my maternal grandfather (completely out-of-character) decides to be an ass because he’s not impressed by the envoy, so he yells out “Hey! Where’s Bob?” In the dream this referred to the Munsters’ lead star, who would be Fred Gwynne, but it was understood that my grandfather was purposely using the wrong name in disrespect of the show, on top of the fact that he was pretending not to be impressed by the co-stars.
All three co-stars went around doing their “meet and greet”. My grandmother was embarrassing because she had to point out to Julie Andrews that Delpha/Sis who was sitting in a wheelchair nearby was practically on her deathbed, but had showed up in honour of the occasion, and how much it meant to her that those stars could be present (for whatever family occasion this was).
As Butch Patrick spoke, sitting Indian-style on the floor, I realized how he was roughly the same age as my Uncle Raymond, and how they must have had a similar upbringing until of course Butch auditioned for The Munsters and his life changed forever. As I thought this, Butch began to look more and more like my Uncle Raymond, and then merged into the spitting image of my Uncle Dennis. I strained to see the scar tissue on his neck from the surgeries that followed his tragic auto accident nearly twenty years prior, but realized it has faded significantly.
At that time the mini-mall food court melted away into my parent’s old living room, and I got up to scavenge finger foods for Julie Andrews, (who I knew must be expecting something). When I looked around, I became frustrated there wasn’t anything substantial enough. I eventually put a few spare pieces of leftover pizza on a pan, spruced them up with some tomato sauce, a little more cheese, and a sprinkle of seasoning, and then put them in the oven to reheat them (Ordinarily I’d reheat in the microwave, but this was a special guest you see). There was a scrumptious French slit pie, but it was in bad shape. Most of the wedges had been mushed (by Falfax, who stood beside me all the sudden).
My mother called out that the pie could be served so long as I spread a new thin layer of whipped cream over the top, and then carefully flipped the “meat” portion of the pie upside-down onto the crust to reseal its bond. After I did this I was unhappy that I had only ended up with two good pieces of pizza and two decent-looking pieces of pie to present to Ms. Andrews (I guess Mr. Patrick and Ms. Priest just weren’t as high-priority?). In real life I probably would’ve been much more excited to see those two. As I dealt with this querulous frustration, I woke up.
As I got out of bed, I was blessed with a new song, one which is very melodic and might be the standout song for my German Expressionist band (which will be premiered in Loads of Dames, as a means of combining creative projects together in an effort of getting more done all at once. This works very naturally since their respective time-period complements each other). It’s entitled “Once” and may be at the heart of my soul’s center. It still needs a lot of work during the bridge, but talk about having a song, lyrics and all (instrumentation, vocal effects, et cetera) just dump into your lap, fully-formed! It just gushed out of me, fresh from the dream. It’s like my dreams were reaching the furthest depths beyond the veil last night to bring back a gem that I could share with the physical world, a translated portion of my unconscious manifesting itself into the physical after my lengthy visit there. Perhaps I should get eight hours’ sleep more often!